When the idea to have me write a column first came to Chiffon in March, I told her it should be published on April 1st, because my life is a joke. Unfortunately, my creative process is made up mostly of procrastination (as well as inner turmoil and indica gummies), so I wouldn’t have this written in time even if I tried. Given free reign writing-wise is overwhelming, much like The Cheesecake Factory menu. What do I choose?! Also, their cheesecake is not good. It should be mentioned that I am a human non-sequitur. One with a great ass, but a mind-wanderer nonetheless, and I get lost in thought, and in general, very easily. But enough about me! Just kidding, this is alllll about me bébés, so let me tell you a bit, well, a bit of a lot, about myself.
I recently turned 38 back in August. After spending the last 20 years living in LA, Chicago, and New York, I decided that paying rent ~wasn’t for me anymore~ and in October moved back to my home state of New Jersey and in with my parents. As someone with three siblings, it was my way of finally achieving my lifelong dream of being an only child. Moving back to Jerz was also a way to navigate a two year (and counting?) mid-life menty breaky by deciding to see if its end was on the east coast— like a pot of gold but instead filled with spaghetti and meatballs. My last name is Angelo afterall. Middle name? Marie🤌🏻
It’s been six months since I traded city life for an uninsulated three-season porch that’s my bedroom in the 55+ community my mom and dad live in. It’s not a retirement home, but a private neighborhood filled with ticky-tacky one story houses where at least one person, if not multiple people, have definitely died. But hey, there’s a pool!
This whole change feels like a second adolescence in a way, an adultescence if you will. But now, instead of worrying about boys, I worry about my own happiness and how to make money and survive the collapse of democracy. You know, just girly things.
Currently, I work for a cannabis company. I used to work in advertising making six figures. Now I make $22/hr. Times are tough for dreamers. If I were a dude, no self-respecting woman (or gay man) would date me. Which is to say that I, Dana, would definitely date man me. If there’s one thing I’ve excelled at in the last 20 years, it’s choosing sociopathic narcissists to date and have my nervous system destroyed by. Then again, that’s most of us, right? Me, I’m just like you! Except my mom buys my groceries.
So now here I am, nearing 40, never married, no kids, living with my parents— while society would say otherwise, I’m the most mentally and emotionally stable I’ve ever been. All this time spent chasing what I thought I was supposed to (only to end up with nada) has led me to work on figuring out what I actually want. A lot of my friends are going through similar WTF AM I DOING?! moments in their lives, so while we’re all lost at sea, at least we’re on the same gay cruise together. And this is your invite to grab a cocktail and hop on.
Through Loose Lips, I’ll reflect and kvetch about the past, shit on my exes simply by sharing my experiences in hopes of saving others from the same agonies I endured, and talk about whatever other weird things are floating on in this brain at any given moment. Because if we’re not laughing we’re crying, and if we’re not crying we’re screaming into decorative throw pillows.
Until next time!
